The rest of us have our own intermission routines to prevent our muscles from cooling down and tightening up. Me? I take off my skates and wiggle my toes, getting blood flow to the extremities, while basically inhaling a bag of sour apple gummy bears, washing down each bite with measured sips of Red Bull. Sugar and caffeine feel like the nectar of the gods mid-game, and the sourness keeps my mouth from going dry. All around me, guys are doing their own things—retaping their sticks, stripping out of their gear or leaving everything on, listening to music or hitting the trainer station, and everyone pees. If you’re not peeing mid-game, you’re dehydrated.
As the timer over the door ticks down, we simultaneously start getting geared back up. Coach reappears and leads us out without further advice, which means we’re doing something right. He’s not a yeller, but if we’re fucking up, he’ll always be the first to let us know.
Skating back onto the ice, my focus stays rink level. I don’t even hear the crowd at this point, keeping my mind on the last period and my job. But there’s still some intermission bullshit going on at the centerline. Internally, I grunt in annoyance but then realize that it’s a fan surrounded by four cheerleaders. Instinctively, I search for Penny and find her to the right side of the face-off circle, on my side of the ice, which means I can warm up in my space and still see her.
I almost smile, but catching the reflex, I quickly bite down on my mouthpiece as I skate over and start my drills. But my eyes are on her. She’s wearing the cheerleader uniform I hate the most of the twothey rotate between. The less-hated one consists of skintight black yoga pants with the team name emblazoned down the leg and a matching crop top. What she has on tonight exposes even more—the top slightly longer but the skirt barely past her ass. The ass I don’t want anybody looking at.
Except me.
As if she can hear me thinking about her, Penny glances my way, and when she meets my cold, dark stare, a shiver visibly works through her. She plays it off as an excited shimmy, but I don’t think the shiver had anything to do with the icy temperature of the rink, but rather my own frostiness.
I scowl even harder. I know my reactions hurt her, and that kills me. But if I acted the least bit friendly, the slightest bit warmer, or even vaguely indifferent to her, it’d be the death knell for both of us. Penny is the sort who makes friends in line at the grocery store, talks to people everywhere she goes, and lets people into her heart easily. An asshole like me, if given half a chance, I would shove my way right in there and take up the whole space, not leaving room for anyone else. I don’t want that for her. So I’m resigned to letting her think I barely tolerate her, for Dominic’s sake.
Praying he hasn’t noticed a possibly blatant eye-fuck of his sister, I send a sly glance Dom’s way, knowing he’s warming up next to me. But he’s playing it up for the crowd, doing some fancy footwork and not paying any attention to the cheerleaders and fan. Or me, thankfully.
Overhead, the announcer says, “Drop the puck for him, ladies, and let’s see if he can ...score.” There’s a snicker of laughter at the way the announcer makes it sound like the male fan might have a shot with one of the cheerleaders, not in getting the puck past Howe, who seems unsurprised by the game and has taken his position in front of the net, acting like this schmuck has an actual chance at getting one by him.
One of the other cheerleaders, Layla, drops a puck to the ice in front of the fan, and Penny hands him a hockey stick. He taps the stick to the ice a few times, acting like he’s got some game, but anyone who’splayed a bit can see that he’s attempting to mimic whatever hockey movie he’s seen and doesn’t actually play. He fakes like he’s going to slam it, and Howe doesn’t react in the slightest other than the brow raise ofreally?he gives the fan. Finally, he slaps the puck toward Howe, who easily deflects it.
“Oh! So close,” the announcer calls. It wasn’t close at all, but stating the obvious wouldn’t have the same energizing effect on the crowd. “Take two!”
Layla drops another puck, and the guy lines up his shot. This one doesn’t even make it to Howe, who has to skate forward to retrieve the puck. Instead of picking it up, he sends it back for a redo, skating a looping circle to return to his place in front of the net.
“All right, guys, let’s give Josh a little help. In the net ... in the net ... in the net,” the announcer chants like Josh must be confused about where he’s aiming, but it seems to work, because the next shot makes it there. Howe barely feigns reaching for it, and basically has to help it in, but the puck slides past the line. “Goal!”
The charade doesn’t fool anyone, and the crowd claps politely for Josh as Howe dribbles the puck back. He expertly flicks the puck into the air, catching it in his glove, and then hands it to the fan, who is obviously excited to be face-to-face with one of the goalie greats. They exchange fist bumps, and Howe skates off to do his prep and stretches.
Josh waves to the crowd like he’s the superstar, and Layla says something to him. He nods, then lays an arm over her shoulder. Penny skates up to Josh’s other side, and he happily plants an arm over her shoulders, too, smiling at them and the crowd as if he’s some big-shot player. With the cheerleaders in skates and Josh in boots, they carefully help him toward the rink’s gate, and my heartbeat begins roaring in my ears as they get closer.
I want to break Josh’s arm off and beat him with it for daring to touch Penny. I’m not a total monster. I don’t give a shit about Layla, so he can keep the other arm. He’d be able to write and wipe his ownass and jack himself off. But the one wrapped around Penny? Fair fucking game.
She’s not mine. But I don’t want her to be anyone else’s either. Or for anyone else to consider that she might be available. As far as I’m concerned, if she’s off-limits to me, she’s off-limits to the world. And Josh might need a little lesson in that math, especially when he’s at a vantage point that lets him look down her cleavage, which he’s surreptitiously doing.
Given her tendency for clumsiness, it’s funny that on the ice is the one place I don’t worry about Penny. She’s got skills, equally at home with graceful spins from her figure skating days and hockey drills from her time practicing with Dominic. Still, when Josh finally steps onto the carpet and lets Penny go, I let out a sigh of relief.
In total, the silly game and exit takes less than four minutes, but being this close to Penny, having some guy touch her, and not being able to intervene is an unexpected hit to my mental game. I slap my helmet a few times on each side, internally yelling at myself to get my shit together because we’ve got a game to win.
“You good, bro?” Dom says, skating a tight circle around me.
“Yeah, just worried this is gonna be a bloodbath.” I wish I was talking about the game with the Beavers. And maybe, on some level, I am.
But mostly, I think I’m gonna destroy myself if I keep trying to protect Penny.
Chapter 5
Penny
“Hello?”
“Penny, this is Carolynn at Yesteryear Antiques,” the voice on the other end of the line says.
I instantly sit up straighter on the couch, where I’ve been vegging this morning, recovering from last night’s three-hour cheerfest by doomscrolling an online marketplace for jewelry. I shop every chance I get—pawnshops, estate sales, antique stores, auctions, you name it. Anywhere I might find jewelry, I’m there, scouring for heirloom pieces I can rework and sell. My favorite places, like Yesteryear, keep an eye out for me, calling if they get anything they think I’ll be interested in.
Carolynn is the owner of Yesteryear and has become a friend, often telling me about her grandkids and her desire to retire to Florida someday. But so far, she hasn’t been able to relinquish ownership of the store, which she started with a hope and a prayer and turned into a bustling business for herself and the people who rent booth space from her.
Clutching my phone tighter to my ear, I say brightly, “Hi, Carolynn! Got something pretty for me?”
“I’ve got a ring here ... never seen anything like this ... so beautiful,” she whispers in a way that lets me know she’s looking at itas she speaks. “I know you’ll want it, so I put it back for you, but you need to get down here. Now.”
